


Ash and Wolf

by SunSpice



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, OC, Original Character(s), Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-26
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 02:13:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2675075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunSpice/pseuds/SunSpice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small collection of one shots centered around Dragon Age Inquisition, featuring non-Inquisitor OC. Mostly a look at the thought processes of various characters. Mostly non-spoiler if you know anything about the beginning of the game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am not entirely sure how much I of this I am going to write, but eh I wrote it so I might as well do something with it right?

Ash And Wolf

 

Varric: In the Middle

In all honestly, Varric had entirely forgotten about the little elven mage that he called friend in Kirkwall. Not Kitten of course, she was hard to forget. As was Ashalendale, but Ashe- or Mouse as he called her was scarcely one to make waves or stand out. She in fact had a very good head on her shoulders, and unlike her circle brethren Ashe knew the best way to keep it there was to keep it down.

She was good at gathering information too, which didn't hurt. As a particularly small dark haired elf, she scarcely stood out at all. It was her pale complexion and lack of facial markings that were the most telling markers about her. Pale because of the amount of time she spent inside reading- and editing his somewhat terrible manuscripts, and chasing him down when his publicist was set on a deadline of course. 

She was for better or worse the dwarven mans assistant, gopher and sometimes housemaid, with this he supposed she put up with alot more of his bullshit then most of his other companions did. If Varric had a right hand that wasn't attached to his body, she was it. Strange how a random act of kindness could so seal someone’s loyalty. And Mouse, she was a tricky one. All bent corners and broken angles. The circle could be cruel, but life on the outside was only so much better if you had people who cared about you. 

Bethany had been lucky with her family, Merrill was born outside of the cruelty that was inflicted by human hands, and minds. Ashe had not been. Not that he could ever 100% guarantee this by her own admission, even he didn't know where exactly she hailed from and Varric had known the mage for years. But she was more open with him, and she insisted that her past was in the past and that it would not, could not hurt anyone now. He’d believe her more if he hadn't know about the panic attacks she was prone to. 

So, it came as a bit of a surprise to him that one day as he sat warming his hands by the campfire in Haven he should hear her voice calling his name. He turned to stare at the gateway, only to stagger under a fly hug that was her normal greeting under the best circumstances, it was only his dwarven constitution that kept him upright.

“Mouse?” He questioned a bit off kilter. She shouldn't be here, she should be relatively safe in Kirkwall reading in her loft room above the Hanged Man. 

“You have no idea how good it is to see you Varric.” Came out in a flow that made it hard to differentiate words. Sometimes when he spoke to her, her strange not quite Fereldan accent made the words too delicate to differentiate properly. “DONT YOU EVER LEAVE ME BEHIND AGAIN!” 

“Good to see you too.” He said with a chuckle as their embrace broke, and he looked her over with a troubled eye. Dirt covered her face in certain places, and her hair was all a snarl. Her clothing (Something he’d given her once upon a time as a birthday gift) was tattered and torn in many places, and most troubling of all were the multitude of bruises and scratches that she seemed to have collected in various places. The worst of which dotted her hands. She wasn’t even wearing a coat for Stones sake. At some point a few of his other companions came around, curios about the strange elf hugging their dwarven companion.

It even seemed that they garnered the precious attention of the Herald himself, delicate elven features easily portraying his confusion over the sight in front of him. He had to roll his eyes at this, she was usually much more subtle, this was a beginners mistake.

“As much as I love a wet collar Mouse, I can’t help but feel like you should be back in Kirkwall. What are you even doing here Ashe?” He asked in a rather out of character seriousness. “I left you back there because it was safe, and you know sans templar.”

She thankfully at this released her hold on his coat, nervously rubbing her hands together in a manner that she’d at some point picked up from Merrill. He noticed at that the sleeve on one arm was much shorter than the other, torn at the elbow exposing a hand shaped bruise. His mood abruptly turned sour, and he ran over the number of people he might peg as being stupid enough to be the culprit with a mental fine toothed comb.

“I had to leave,” she mumbled. “Couldn’t stay, couldn’t stay. It wasn’t safe. I mean, it was at first. Everything was alright, and I was looking after the Hanged Man like you asked. But then…” She broke off again kneading her hands once more.

“What happened?” Asked the all to distinct voice of Cassandra, and only too late did Varric realize that this was a mistake. He trusted the Seeker because he knew her, Ashe did not. So Ashe did what she’d always done when taken by surprised and in enemy territory. She disappeared, with a small meep as was her customary response. She was much too meek for her own good, and he could tell that she’d only just skittered behind a random crate to get away.

“What?” Said one of their less intelligent companions, whom he wasn’t sure. 

“A mage?” Cullen said with no small amount of frustration in his voice.

“Now you’ve done it Seeker.” Was all Varric could utter, his face in his palm. “Now it’ll be impossible to get her to talk. Come on Mousy, no one here will hurt you. Its okay.”

“If it helps at all Varric,” Solas said in a calm voice. “Please explain my situation, I would wish for your companion to know she is in good company.”

“Fair enough, come on Mousy. You heard Chuckles, you’re with friends.” He said gently crooking his fingers at her like she was some stray cat. “I know you might be allergic to the Chantry, but none of these big bad Chantry folk will take you away and throw away the key.”

After another moment, he nodded at Solas and the elf stepped into the corner he’d indicated. She would see it as a betrayal that he ratted out her hiding place, but he’d make it up to her later.

“Please, know you are among friends. I too am a mage, and any injustice payed you would not be tolerated by us.” With this he simply stepped back, and for a moment nothing happened. It was always an iffy thing if she would allow herself to trust anyone enough to draw her out. She’d earned her nickname, just like everybody else. But thankfully she found it in herself to slowly come out of the space between crate and wooden shack. She’d long since lost her limited invisibility, but the didn’t mean she wouldn't just jump back into it and slip away for good. Particularly if she was mad at him.

She’d done it before of course, when she and he had any particularly heated arguments and she was set on childishly avoiding him in the best manner she knew. It was very strange to come into a room and see of floating manuscript, or to get the sensation that someone was watching you and you really weren’t sure if they were there or not. Which was entirely intentional, as they tormented each other like proper siblings, not like he and Bartrand- who really only associated with each other because they were blood.

Before his betrayal, Varric had believed differently. But things change, he should have been clued in on this when he realized that Mousy and Bartrand didn’t get along. She had a nose for bad deals, and people who really weren’t good to associate with. Funny trait for an introvert to have really, most people chalked it up to her paranoia. But in his years of knowing her, he would say any paranoia was justified. Being a mage in Kirkwall was like playing a sheep among wolves, you could dye your coat and run with the pack, but the moment you opened your mouth to howl you would all be very surprised.

She was too smart for the circle anyways.

Mousy moved slowly but eventually she was sitting on a log next to him in front of the fire- and Lillianna bless her heart had somehow managed to acquire a cup of hot tea for the girl. Which she was drinking slowly, but surely. That was another thing he hadn’t noticed at first. Her clothing was tailored to fit, it was a must for any decent businessman or woman. He’d been the one to commission a tailor. It should not be hanging off of her like it was, she should not look like a starving beggar. She was a grown adult with competent survival skills, and this was indicative of someone who had gone without adequate for for a long period of time. He’d only just managed to feed her up to a decent standard.

Which was of course a bit over the top for elves, but the extra fat would make her more sturdy like any decent dwarf. She was almost painfully thin. He quietly asked Lilliana to find some soup as well. As long as she could eat, he would make sure she was fed. They’d moved from the outer campfire into the the tavern just a few steps away, as much for the shelter as for the warmth.

“Now,” Varric said after she’d finished a cup of tea and a bowl of soup respectively. “What happened? I have it on good authority that you were doing well taking care of things while I was away.”

“I was,” she agreed nursing a second bowl. Food was still a bit scarce, and he knew that someone was giving up their meal for the night because of this so he subtly decided it would be his. He had enough meat on his dwarven bones to spare. “And then the invasion happened.”

The group as a whole shared a bit of an uneasy silence, no one knew exactly what to say of it. Varric of course was very tasty on the subject, Chantry boy should have known better. But for the sake of conversation, and his own sanity he let it slide.

“Which wasn’t bad per say, there wasn’t much fighting- actually I don’t think there was any.” Ashe continued her voice still somewhat low. “Kirkwall was just too tired to fight anymore, and Aveline knew better than to try and stop the inevitable. She’s been acting Viscount for long enough- not that there were nobles around to elect a viscount, they took off not to long after you and the Seeker took your leave.”

“Short version Mousy.” She had a habit of breaking off into tangents to explain everything, which could be helpful at times, but usually resulted in her story becoming much convoluted.

“Right right,” she mumbled catching it herself and scratching the back of her head sheepishly. “I was doing well enough, but then..”

She’d trailed off in her ‘I’m trying to put this in the right context’ way, most people would realize she was thinking about something, but he knew from experience that she was trying to think of a way to properly word her sentences. Stupid people would assume she was done, impatient people would try to assume they knew what she meant. But he found it best to wait for her to provide context. She always carefully observed situations, watched for indications of the reason behind certain behaviors. Because of this she was slow to anger, and quick to apologize if she decide understood why she could or would be in the wrong. It wasn’t that she ever felt wrong, but that she regretted upsetting the person with her perceived truth. 

“Then one day out of the blue Sebastian requested an audience.” she said with a shrug, her interactions with the group of companions that surrounded Hawke was somewhat limited. Intentionally so. Not entirely on her part either, if he was to be honest. He trusted and liked Blondie- but that didn’t mean he would intentionally introduce Mousy to an unstable mage and expect nothing bad to happen. She’d been fast friends with Kitten of course, which was just a priceless thing to consider. Curiosity and Caution. “I thought ‘Okay, he’s a friend. I’ll go to him’ which is utterly asinine because he could have come and spoken to me at any time, it wasn’t like he didn’t know where I lived or anything. I should have known something was wrong the moment I got that damn letter. He’s never been so prim and proper with me, not like that at least. I mean he’s always been ‘chantry brother extraordinaire’ but never distant. Never demanding.”

She took a moment to drain the last of the soup from her bowl before continuing, and her expression was deeply troubled. This part, he could already tell he was not going to like.

“Aveline was there, and she seemed just as puzzled as I was to be there. I mean, we both knew why I avoided Hightown in general. But then his doorman was all like ‘He will see you now’ and I was totally pissed off because really Sebastian, really? He will see me now? Prince or not, the stupid blighter requested my presence. So I was in a bit of a tizzy over that already, and we walked into the room. And there he was, his almighty grace sitting like a pounce on the throne.” her hands were clutched in front of her like she wanted to strangle the man, “And he was all hoity toity greeting us, ‘How are you, What have you been up to, how is the business going?’ that sort of thing. What I didn’t expect was his comment after that. Something along the lines of ‘I’m glad you’ve been okay considering the circumstances,’ and then he was all like ‘I know life can be hard for mages outside the Circle, and I am glad to be in a position that allows me to give you the protection that you need.’”

There was silence for a second as she let others absorb this for a second, and Varric’s gut squeezed uncomfortably.

“He didn’t…” Was all the dwarf could say before the look in her eyes confirmed what he only just suspected.

“Sebastian said, that he had been fearful that I would turn into a monster like Anders.” she elaborated voice breaking slightly at this, his name slid like a curse off of her tongue “That he would make sure that the Makers work was done, and that he was going to send me to the Palace in Starkhaven to be looked after properly as the Circle had been destroyed just before his family was murdered. He also said that he’d been given special permission by the Divine to take keep me there.”

“That nughumper,” was all Varric could say, although his mind was running at a mile a minute calculating how and when he would repay his chantry friend for scarring Mousy so. He knew how the girl reacted to the very thought of being confined, there was no way Sebastian hadn’t known. Mousy… Mousy was far too easily prone to debilitating panic attacks. She had been since the day Varric found her. Hell it was the reason the Tevinter slavers had been so keen on getting rid of her. Because not even their magic prods could snap her out of them.

“Aveline tried to stop him.” She began again, “But he had templars. Templars. Eugh.” 

Cullen made a discontent noise, and despite her meek nature Mousy gave him a look. Anger always made her rash, which made it just as well that she rarely angered. She was too good at seeing shades of grey. But even then what Sebastian had done was a level of grey she was not going to allow herself to sink too, Varric was both relieved- because that would mean she had literally given up, and irritated because the Starkhaven chantry boy had crossed a line. Hitting the elf where it hurt was just low and disgusting to him, and if he was the vengeful kind he would make the man regret it. Oh wait, he was more fun for him then.

“He had me in the Keep for three days before we left Kirkwall.” she commented raggedly, how many times he wondered had the girl succumed to panic attacks in that time. Because for all that she didn’t mind small spaces, being forced to stay in one place was a good way to trigger an episode. “Then he had the Maker given grace to make the mistake of setting me in a carriage surrounded by only soldiers, and I decided to repay his efforts with my own. It only took me half a day to regain the needed magic to change, and run.”

“And you've been running ever since?” Varric asked, and the woman nodded with a bit of a rueful grin. “How’d you get across the sea?”

“Didn’t. Couldn't really, the ships were all pretty guarded and I knew it was only a matter of time before they caught up with me, so I took the long way around. Why do you think it took me so long to catch up with you.”

“That's quite the journey,” The Herald commented gently. “I can’t imagine walking that entire distance.”

“Well I wasn't really given much a of a choice, I kind of had some rather persistent pursuers. Er, I’m sorry I never got your name?” Ashe said hesitantly.

“Lavellan, or if you’re being picky the Herald of Andraste.” Said the elven mage with a bit of exasperation. Mousy, bless her heart had no idea what he was talking about and just soldiered on with her own introduction.

“Ashelandale.” she said quietly before amending, “Ashe, for most people. Or Mouse if you are listening to Varric.”

A round of introductions sounded off, and after that he decided it would be a good idea to make sure the girl had some decent sleep- it didn't hurt that she fell asleep on the table after a bit of small talk on the end of his comrades. It was an amazing show of trust on her part, even as tired as she was, she never fell asleep around anyone she didn't know. He just shook his head, and carried her to the little hut he’d claimed as his own. Knocking an excess of pillows from his bed onto the floor before kicking them into a corner and setting her in the middle. A blanket soon followed, and then he banked the fire as he decided it was a good time to turn in.


	2. Ashe: Running Ragged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter directly from the OC's POV. As a side note, I forgot to mention in the last chapter that I really don't having anything against Sebastian. I actually really like his character. But I also think it is bullshit that he defects if you don't kill Anders- which I don't because he has to learn to live with what he's done. Also I think Anders was a bit railroaded in two because the devs needed a scampgoat. But eh, nothing anyone can do about it now. His character was so much better in Origins.

Ashe: Running Ragged

 

The bite of claws on snow, the scent of hunters on the wind. The heart pounding adrenaline pumping through her veins at the sound of armor and the smell of lyrium. Mage hunters, killers, betrayers. The wolf knew them all to well, for what predator did not know another. And it was because of this she ran, they were a pack of dogs and she was but a lone wolf. It sometimes took her a moment to remember that she wasn’t always a wolf, only mage changed wolf.

But in this form at least she could run free, outside of the curse that magic twisted into a cage around her. Neither Dalish nor city elf, but always the dangerous other. Varric was one of the few in this world that she could trust enough to run to, a rock midstream for her to hold to in case something should go awry. He’d for better or worse taken her under his wing, and given her a chance as a person and not just some dog of magic.

And that was what kept her running, even as her feet stung and her lungs fought for breath. Wolves as it were, were made to run for extended periods of time. To keep up with their prey and wear them down, hunting wasn’t always about ambushes and sudden death. Sometimes it was the long loping run after prey, and the gratification of knowing your hard work earned your meal. 

But as a whole, it was always much better to be the hunter and not the hunted. She stumbled a bit, her front paw catching a stone in just the wrong place, and for a moment her movement flagged. Once she began running, it could be hard to stop, and once she found her pace she could run for hours without stop. But hours usually demanded a reward in calories from her body that she at this point had yet to provide. 

Several dozen times over. Sometimes she would get lucky, and while running might happen across an unsuspecting nug or rabbit- nugs were better because they carried more fat on their bones and were half blind in sunlight. Which would be an easy and rewarding catch. But the templars that Sebastian had set on her trail were never far behind. And unlike his majesty, Ashe knew that they had no intention of treating her nicely when they finally succeeded in catching her.

She’d only just managed to avoid a dragon’s lair once, fucking dragons. The nestlings had singed the end of her tail with a blast of flame, and the smell of burnt fur left a trail that was all to easy for their hounds to follow. Her paws had been run raw at this point, but felt much better for the snow that fell in the night a few days past. She would find the occasional tree to sleep under, or hollow to hide in for a bit of rest. But without adequate food, she was more likely to starve to death at this point the die by the hands of the pursuant templar.

And then she almost literally stumbled into a human settlement in wolf form and that would have been bad. Instead she found a quiet and discreet place to shift, a process that happened slowly. Achingly slowly as her magic weakened after weeks of running, and starvation sluggishly ran over her paws, claws and pads shifting into hands and palms. Legs lengthened, and arms shifted as the sockets that held them became more primate and less canine. 

She sat panting, magic spent and body exhausted as for moment she let her body soak in the bone numbing cold of the snow. It felt better then her aching muscles at any rate, and it took her a good long time to force herself onto aching feet. At which rate she was shivering, but with any hope food and shelter might be forthcoming if she was careful. She by rights had no idea where she really was. The Hinterlands to be sure, she’d gathered that much from the road signs.

But more than that- well she wasn’t an all knowing road map monger. She had a good head for maps, to be sure. But paper and real life were scarcely the same thing. Her knees wavered as she walked slowly through the heavy wooden gate, left open for wagons and other visitors no doubt.

Her clothing was just a mess, torn, dirty and not entirely whole anymore it was a shadow of its former self. But it would suffice. Her changes never affected her clothing thankfully, as magic was magic. But it didn't keep it from gathering dirt when worn as a wolf. The town itself was not very large, a couple of single room houses around a chantry set up on a hill. She would have to find what passed for a shop or a tavern, and maybe with the few coins she still possessed she could buy some terrible greasy tavern food. 

She was salivating at the thought actually. 

The hill itself had three parts, the level she was on she could tell had nothing even resembling a market or a shop, so she forced her aching legs to carry her up the steps set into the hill up to the second level. The hint of food was carried on the breeze, and her still slightly sensitive nose also caught another scent. 

The scent of ink, and bow wax, leather, oil that was often used on metallic parts and the distinct odor of dwarf. She broke into a run at the sight of a familiar leather coated back with a shout of ‘Varric!’ The dwarf in question turning only in time to catch an elf to the face. 

“Mouse?”


End file.
